Sunday, January 23, 2011

If you go to the beach at high tide, you are going to get wet. Know that.

At high tide you aren’t going to find crystals. Those are for low tide. But you are going to get wet. You are going to get slammed by incoming waves and you are going to learn things you wouldn’t have learned otherwise and see things you wouldn’t have seen otherwise. You’ll learn where to step and when the waves are coming for you. It’s a great metaphor for Life.

Today I went to the beach at high tide. A narrow strip of sand called me, and the sea chased me into the rocks and pushed me in to quicksand and uncertain footing. I am like a mountain goat in the shore rocks.

I met many ladybugs who landed on me without hesitation. They stretched their wings and had a sniff of me and took off once more.

I met flocks of shorebirds who paid me little mind as they chased the water line back and forth seeking their Sunday brunch.

I saw where others had come before me and left their mark.

And of course my flirt of surfers.

I was surprised by a wave, and called it Thigh Tide, as I was unintentionally soaked to the waist. Silly ocean. Yes, it has the last word on these matters.

I found a rock as speckled as an egg, and full of magic. The cats have it now, and won’t relinquish it back to me yet. They can keep it. The ocean took my cares, and replaced them with calm.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Wow the holidays are here and have really taken up my time. I’ve been totally preoccupied with work, with year-end business, with the business of the holidays, and parties, and people, and obligations, and…. Oh wait, aren’t we supposed to be having fun?

I got a great lesson the other day. I ran out at lunch to purchase some last minute New Year’s supplies and found myself in the local drugstore. Ahead of me in line was an older lady.

She was immaculately dressed: well done wig, sparkly scarf, boiled wool coat, dark stockings, and low heels. She was pushing a cart with three huge mechanical Santa Clauses on post Christmas sale – these fellows were about three feet tall each, with zombie like movements, flashing lights, and sang with a definite Asian accent. These Santas were great. You don’t get better kitsch that this.As it turns out, the lady was 89 years old. She was buying the Santas for NEXT Christmas. And in addition, her birthday party was that night – she was having friends in and planning a great time.

That, my friends, is the secret to longevity. To be 89 and planning (and taking action toward) next Christmas.

About Me

Me? Many aspects: Writer, Attorney, Registered Nurse, Behavioral Scientist, Clairvoyant. I'm interested in bringing magic practice back into people's lives: the conscious use of energy to grow, live, and love. We aren't here to be anesthetized consumers of goods. We're here to learn about love and grow the planet.